


Not Drowning Anymore

by 4evrwithsirius



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Episode Fix-It: s04e03 The Final Problem, First Kiss, Fix-It, Implied Relationships, Implied Suicide Attempt, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-The Final Problem, Season/Series 04, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 20:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9511937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4evrwithsirius/pseuds/4evrwithsirius
Summary: Set after TFP, John and Sherlock have a much needed talk. See notes for details.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Although I hated TFP, this fic assumes that everything in it was real. I merely fixed a few of the minor plot holes and gave John and Sherlock what they needed. Set during the montage, before the parentlock scene. Ignored Mary's second posthumous video, because lord knows she doesn't need more of a say in their lives.  
> Quotes as Sherlock's thoughts were taken from His Last Vow, The Abominable Bride, and The Final Problem.  
> First Sherlock fic ever, and first fic in a very long time. Please forgive/ignore any potentially OOC moments or grammatical errors. This has not been beta-ed.  
> Sherlock Holmes and its characters and universe do not belong to me.  
> Enjoy.

It was dark in 221B Baker Street, lit only by the roaring fire place. The only sound was the steady patter of rain on the windows, and the faint crackling as the fire burns away the fresh wood. The final touches of refurbishment had been placed earlier that afternoon- Mrs. Hudson had found an exact match for the rug, John had painted the smiley face on the wall and Sherlock had shot it, John had ordered new headphones for the cow skull, and Sherlock had even stabbed the mantle. There were subtle changes, too. John had insisted in rounded furniture for whenever Rosie was around, the kitchen didn’t have any experiments set up, the bedroom upstairs was barren, and the chairs were new. John’s in particular felt as though no one had ever lived in it. Sherlock wasn’t quite sure it would ever feel that way now.

 

Sherlock was hunched over in his own chair, knees tucked to his chest and arms crossed on top, not hearing the rain and not feeling the warmth of the fire. His eyes were fixed on the skull that had once again found it’s place on the mantle. Billy. His first real friend. _Not the first- there was Victor._ How could he forget Victor? How could he forget Eurus?

 

 _Sentiment_ whispered across his mind, sounding annoyingly like Mycroft.

 

For the first time in the weeks since the fiasco with Eurus, he had space and time to think and focus. For the first time, he was alone. John was back at his flat with Rosie, Mrs. Hudson was away visiting a friend now the flat was finished, Lestrade was checking on Mycroft, and Molly was keeping her distance. Sure, they had talked and he had explained and she had said that she didn’t actually still love him but sometimes it’s hard to face who she used to be and how she used to feel. She’s merely setting up and keeping some boundaries to make sure they can maintain their friendship. He has no reason to suspect she’s lying about her mental state. But- everyone is still away.

 

Now that he was alone and he could feel the silence seeping into his skin, he could focus on how he got here. How did he forget _his sister_? How did he miss the signs? He’s the world’s only consulting detective. His brain is a hard drive that catches every detail and stores pertinent information. He met John’s therapist but couldn’t catch the clues staring him in the face that he’d already met her. To his credit he was high out of mind and was briefly convinced that Faith wasn’t real but how? _Why?_

 

Mary had told him to save John, to make John come back to him. But John didn’t want him. John’s letter had been quite frank. And then John had beaten him. He was right to of course- Sherlock’s first and last vow and he’d broken it in his arrogance. His penance was clear. John beat him, Smith nearly killed him, and John didn’t even flinch when Sherlock put the gun to his own head. John was beginning to see he wasn’t truly brilliant. He only managed to catch Smith because he was dying to confess and he was blind sided by Eurus.

 

The weight of his failures pressed down upon him, water began to rise up from his mind palace, and his breath quickened. _Deep water, Sherlock. All your life, in all your dreams. Deep waters._ The memory of John chained to the bottom of the well, water creeping up his neck while Sherlock didn’t go straight to him surged forward. Sherlock was sinking deeper in his mind palace, his vision began to swim, and his breath was harder to come by. He was the one drowning now.

 

“Sherlock!” The voice was urgent and there were suddenly hands on his arms and a face swimming into view. Sherlockwondered if he was real or if his mind palace was bleeding into reality again. He grabbed at John's wrist with one hand to see if John was solid, the other still wrapped around his knees. John felt real enough and he vaguely wondered how long John had been there and trying to get his attention, but the water was creeping higher and a cold chill ran down his spine. _Too deep, Sherlock. Way too deep._

 

“Sherlock, you must breathe. In….. and out…. Breathe with me. It’s all right. Just breathe with me.”

 

Sherlock took a short, shuddering breath in and released it just as quickly. John’s fingers dug into his shoulder every time he was to breathe in. They continued this way for several minutes until his breath had evened out and the waters began to recede in his mind. John sat back on the floor against his chair and turned to face the slowly dying fire to give him some space. Sherlock sat back in his chair and tried his hardest not to curl in on himself or immediately look away when John’s gaze turned up to him.

 

“What was that all about?”

 

Sherlock answered with questions of his own. “How long have you been there? What are you doing here? Why aren’t you with Rosie?”

 

John’s brow creased in confusion and he tilted his head slightly. “I was trying to get your attention for three minutes before you caught on. You were muttering but wouldn’t snap out of it.” Sherlock froze, wondering if he had spoken his thoughts aloud for John to hear, but he continued on with his answers as though there was nothing more to say on the subject. “She’s with Harry. Don’t you remember me telling you Harry would be watching her every once in a while? I think Rosie could use more family. I mean she has all of us of course but with Mary gone…”

 

Sherlock tried to suppress a flinch at the name but John noticed if the tight line of his mouth was anything to go by. Sherlock took a moment to take stock of the man in front of him: John's hair was damp, water marks covered his jacket sleeves and pant legs, his left shoe was significantly darker and had a slightly wrinkled look to it from being soaked, and there was an umbrella thrown haphazardly by the stairs. There wasn't any pattering against the windows anymore so it must have stopped raining during his.... episode. John himself was leaning toward the warmth of the fire and would have been the picture of exhausted relaxation were it not for his clenched jaw and curling and uncurling his left hand into a fist, his thumb occasionally worrying his bare ring finger. It seemed a bit extreme of a reaction for witnessing a panic attack or seeing a flinch at a name but Sherlock couldn't yet pin point the cause of his stress.

 

"That's good for Rosie. That's...good." He hesitated, eyes darting around the room to look anywhere but at John. "You still haven't said why you're here."

 

John stared at Sherlock for a second too long before saying, "I told you earlier that I would be by to check on you and the flat tonight. Things are a little bit different here now. It's your first night back here and in your own room and not on my sofa." The implication of his first night alone went unspoken. "And I wanted to know if you were planning on visiting Eurus again this week. I need to give the surgery my availability but am trying to make sure Rosie is looked after.”

 

Sherlock stiffened further at the mention of his sister. “No. I will not be visiting her again.”

 

“Ever? It seemed like you were making an effort to connect-“

 

“I visited her once. I played the violin with her. Once. I proved to my dear mummy that her daughter is somewhere inside that shell. I appeased my parents. I appealed to their… sentiment. I have no use for developing a relationship with someone who tortured us and who killed my best friend. If I had been even an instant slower she would have-“ Sherlock stopped short and took a quick steadying breath in through his nose. His eyes briefly closed as he tried to keep the waters in his mind at bay. John’s expression was hard to read in the dim light of the fire, half of it steeped in darkness. But what he could make out appeared to be concern.

 

“Sherlock, I’m fine. We’re both here now. It’s Mycroft and your parents’ fault you had no memory of Eurus. It’s not your fault you didn’t recognize my therapist as Faith. You were a bit… preoccupied. And it’s not your fault Smith was only incarcerated because he couldn’t stop confessing. You shouldn’t have tried to take him on on your own, all of your weeks in advance planning be damned. This isn’t a penance for your crimes Sherlock.” His eyes snapped to John and narrowed at his words but John seemed to find the ceiling more fascinating. “And I should have taken you seriously from the beginning.”

 

“You were right John. I killed your wife. I broke my vow.” John lurched forward slightly at his words but ultimately stayed put on the floor. He shook his head as he looked at Sherlock incredulously.

 

“I told you before Sherlock. No one could make her do anything and she made her own choices. That’s not your fault. And if I remember correctly, she killed you first.”

 

“She saved my life, John. Twice.”

 

At this John did jump to his feet, his eyes ablaze, a finger thrusting in Sherlock’s direction as he shouted, “NO, SHE DIDN’T!” Sherlock flinched and John gathered himself and let out a huff of breath between his teeth, his hand still reaching towards Sherlock but no longer aggressively pointing at him. “No, Sherlock. She tried to kill you twice and she succeeded once. She shot you in the chest. She may have called an ambulance but she shot you in the chest and your heart stopped. And then the paramedics had to restart your heart after that. Jesus! I kicked you in that exact spot. I could have-“ His head fell into one of his hands and his breath rattled in his chest.

 

Sherlock was briefly taken back to when John had wept in his grief and he had comforted him. Sherlock’s feet lowered to the ground from his chair and he was preparing to repeat the gesture when John’s other hand was held up to stop him in his tracks. “No, Sherlock. You should not be comforting me. Not now. My… assassin wife lied to us both, shot you, and never apologized. I chose to stay with her after you pushed for it, for Rosie's sake. Then she ran halfway around the globe because she still couldn’t tell the bloody truth, got herself killed, and then still tried to send you to your death. She never should have told you to get lost in the drugs, Sherlock. You could have OD’ed. You would have been killed by Smith if I hadn’t seen the video at the exact right moment.”

 

Sherlock’s heart was pounding now and he took a gasping breath. He couldn’t let the waters rise up any further. “I knew that you would be there.”

 

“But you shouldn’t have had to, Sherlock! I never should have told you to stay away. I never should have written you that letter. I was grieving the loss of my daughter’s mother and grief makes you do bloody stupid things. I just needed a little time and space but I would have come back around. You didn’t need to do that, and she should not have pushed you into something so reckless and stupid. But I am sorry Sherlock. I am so sorry that I blamed you. I will never be able to apologize enough for attacking you in the hospital.” Sherlock’s mouth opened to protest again and he stood to move towards him, but John wouldn’t hear it. “No, Sherlock. You didn’t deserve it. That’s not what friends do. That’s not how we treat each other. I will never lay a hand on you like that again. I promise."

 

John’s stare was intense as Sherlock shuffled closer to the fireplace. To hear John say that lifted a weight he didn’t even know was on his shoulders and the vice in his chest eased. He could think of no proper response, however, and instead turned to face Billy to not have to face John and his peering gaze.

 

“You jumped off a building and gave up your life for two years to protect me. You pulled me out of a fire. You killed Magnussen to keep Mary and me safe. You were almost murdered by a serial killer just to give me something to focus on. You jumped into a well and held your breath until you loosened the chain and I was free. And you refused to kill me, even though it would have benefited you to have Mycroft by your side.”

 

Sherlock shifted on his feet again, his eyes flickering from John and then all around his head. He was suddenly not liking the idea of where this might be going. If John noticed, he didn’t let on, but he seemed to change his course all the same.

 

Johns voice was hushed and raw with emotion. "I need you to do one thing, perform one more miracle. I need you to want to stay here. I need you to not be so okay with the idea of being blown away at any minute.”

 

John took a step forward as Sherlock quietly responded, “I told Smith I don’t want to die, John.” John took another step and reached one arm out.

 

“Yes. But you haven’t put a lot of fight into staying either.” One more step, the other arm out, and John pulled Sherlock into a hug. Sherlock stiffened slightly, sure that his heart hammering in his rib cage was drowning out any thought either of them had. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with his arms, as last time he was comforting John. Sherlock was still backpedaling, trying to figure out how he didn’t deduce that this was John’s next move, when John said, “I never should have said I’d rather have anyone but you. I’m sorry that I froze in that cell. If you had pulled the trigger… There’s no one more important than you, Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock’s knees seemed to give out at that exact moment and he sagged slightly in John’s arms. The doctor seemed prepared for it, though, as he never wavered. He merely tightened his arms around Sherlock’s chest, and adjusted so Sherlock could bury his head in John’s shoulder. There was a roaring in Sherlock’s ears as he tightened his arms around John’s back. The cold fog that had been lingering in his mind all night finally lifted, and he took a deep, shuddering breath into his aching lungs.

 

They stayed like that for several minutes until they both easily pulled out of the embrace but stayed standing close together. They stared at each other for another minute, neither breaking the silence. “Sherlock, Eurus made a mistake in calling Molly.”

 

Sherlock was frozen on the spot, not wanting to move a single muscle for fear of breaking whatever was happening now. “I know, John. Molly and I already discussed the reasonings behind the situation and any potential fall out after the fact. We are taking steps to ensure our friendship is fine. I know Molly is not still in love with me.”

 

John blinked rapidly at that in slight confusion and looked around the room like he was looking for help. He stopped to look at the ground, his hand clenching again. “No, that’s not-“ He pushed a big breath of air out of his lips as he scrubbed his face, and Sherlock’s heart clenched in his chest. “She could have asked someone else to say it, Sherlock.”

 

It was Sherlock’s turn to blink now before he leaned away slightly. The physical distance did not keep him from hearing John’s next question, his tone no longer confused but leading, seemingly teasing, “Why did you do all those things for me? What would be the emotional context Eurus would try to give here?”

 

Sherlocks heart lurched in his chest and he fought to maintain his composure against the hurt bubbling up in his gut. "This isn't a game, John. We've left Sherrinford behind. You can't play mind games with me like she did."

 

Johns voice was quiet and somber, and Sherlock could practically hear the emotions crackling beneath the surface. "You're right, Sherlock. No more games. Nothing you've ever done for me has been a game. I think she knew that. But I need to know."

 

Sherlock closed his eyes as he felt like he was jumping off Bart’s, restarting his heart, diving into a fire, pulling the trigger, being smothered, and jumping into a well all at once. And suddenly he was on the tarmac, ready to say goodbye forever.

 

_There’s something I should say. I’ve meant to say always and then never have._

 

“It’s true, John. It’s always been true.” Sherlock could not turn to face John, not after that. He remained facing the fire, feeling it’s warmth dissipating, seeing the shadows looming behind closed eyelids. They’ve been talking for a long time.

 

“Then say it.” Sherlock shuddered at the softness of his voice. Is John smiling?

 

“I love you, John.”

 

Several beats of deafening silence pass, and then-

 

“I love you, too, Sherlock.” Sherlock’s eyes snapped open and over to John. He was smiling softly, a crinkle in the corner of his eyes, barely noticeable in the dying embers of the fire. “I always have.” John reached to the back of Sherlock’s neck and gently pulled him down to his lips, soft and leading. Sherlock sighed as all of his senses came to life, lights blazing in his mind despite the darkness of the room, his heart burning despite the cold. His chest ached in an entirely new way as he feels a piece of himself slide into place. They pulled away, foreheads bumping against the other.

 

They say together, “I always will," and neither can help the giggle that escapes their lips.

 

John pulled Sherlock in once more, and this time they move together, more sure.

 

Sherlock didn't need to worry about the anxiety in his chest. There's time to figure out logistics, there's time to talk it through, and there is time to learn the other like this. But he had found an anchor. He wasn't drowning anymore.


End file.
